


Off His Chest

by kappa77



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Relationship, The Mandalorian (TV) Season 2, Trans Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 00:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kappa77/pseuds/kappa77
Summary: No one has seen the real me, Din tries to say with his mind,except you.or, the aftermath of Chapter 15 with trans Din
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	Off His Chest

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I just love trans Din headcanons (there's just something so trans about Mandalorians, you know?) and I was just going buck wild over the idea of making Ch 15 even more impactful if Din was trans.
> 
> Disclaimer: Author is trans, but not in the sense as "trans guy who has medically transitioned"

Din goes on autopilot once he has two feet firmly on the Slave I. He barely registers handing the rifle to Mayfeld until the heat from the blast catches up with the ship. He finds his way to a seat and sinks in, not processing the screaming of TIEs outside the ship.

He presses his finger into the edge of the stormtrooper helmet, like he’s afraid of it flying off his head. He hasn’t felt this way since his first bounty, his blood roaring in his ears like the waterfall they just crossed, the knot in his gut, it’s a miracle he’s keeping his breathing under control.

Migs has been quiet since he blew up the refinery, which Din appreciates. He’s had to deal with so much since Tython, he needs a minute to process, or at least pretend to process it.

He knows Migs saw his face, his words kind but a bold-faced lie. He had locked eyes with the man after he had shot Hess.

He had never felt so exposed, so bared open.

When they land, Boba tells him where to find the armor. Without another word, he and Migs leave the ship, leaving Din to change in privacy. The stormtrooper armor falls unceremoniously at his feet, some pieces even cracking when they land on the metal floor.

His armor, _his_ armor, he has to remind himself, goes on much more slowly. The pauldrons he ties too tights and has to redo them twice. Every piece feels like coming home, until there’s only the helmet left.

He turns it over in his hands, until he can see a slightly distorted reflection of himself. It’s an image he’s familiar with, calculating each change with every injection. It wasn’t like it was a secret, the change in voice evident to the members of the Tribe, but his face was different. And Migs is the first – only person, to see that change.

The feeling in his gut hasn’t passed, so he focuses on more pressing matters.

He knows it’s sacrilege for him to put the helmet back on after taking it off, but he can’t save the kid without protection. He can deal with the consequences later.

Once the kid is safe.

For the kid, he thinks, as he slips the helmet back on.

“You decent, Mando?” Migs calls from outside, “Fett just left to make sure there aren’t any other stormtroopers.”

He considers the pile of armor in front of him as an idea quickly forms. He tells Migs to get out of the way before throwing the stormtrooper helmet out of the ship and shoots it midair. Mayfeld swears, but it’s followed by a cheer.

“Alright!” Migs comes back up the gangplank, a smile on his face as he locks eyes with Din. “That’s much better!”

And maybe this post-celebration isn’t the best time to bring it up, but if not now, when?

He clears his throat, suddenly dry. “Migs, I-”

“Nope,” Migs says, hands out, “like I said, I didn’t see anything. Nothing to discuss.”

“No, that’s not-” he sighs, for once in his life wishing he was more of a talker. Wished the words would appear as he wants them to, in a way that would cut to the chase of what he wants to say.

Instead, he is a man of action, and he pulls two small containers that he had in his pocket when the _Razor Crest_ blew up. He shoves it into Migs’ hand, hoping that’s enough. He squints to read the small text.

“Sustanon 250?” Migs just looks more confused and Din sighs.

“I started injections after I swore the Creed. After I swore to never take off the helmet.”

 _No one has seen the real me_ , he tries to say with his mind, _except you_.

Mayfeld looks up to him and Din is sure he understands. That cocksure attitude leaves him as he hands the containers back.

“Why the hell are you telling me this?” Migs sounds… almost mad, but there’s something more in his tone.

_I don’t know. I don’t know how to react to any of this and this seems like the best start. There’s adrenaline still in my veins when I know it should have left by now and I think it’s because of you._

But he doesn’t say that. What comes out of his mouth is, “Whatever helps you sleep better at night.”

He doesn’t look for a reaction, just walks around him and out of Slave I, hearing the familiar sounds of Fennec and Cara.

He’d hoped he’d feel better, this swirling in his gut gone with coming out, but it stays there. He swallows it down as he and Cara have their back and forth, letting Migs off the hook. Mayfeld starts walking away, and the knot in Din’s chest starts to settle, until he turns around.

“Hey, you guys need a dead man’s help in saving the kid?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed my soul and are always appreciated!


End file.
